“Hmm. I think I’ll wait on my ship. If someone has questions, they can find me there.”
He turned and left, his communicator to his mouth the moment he went through the outer doors. “Trouble, M’Sada. Get ready for an immediate departure, and do not ask the port for permission.”
He hurried across the tarmac, but it was a long way to go. Before he’d gone far, several vehicles with armed police came around the terminal building and headed in his direction. The moment they did, two Great Cats descended the ramp at a dead run toward Stven, weapons belts strapped to their bodies. Stven made a quick decision and unfolded his wings, took several running steps, and lifted a few feet into the air. Dragons were not fast, but they were faster in the air than on foot. He was half way to the ship when the port guards opened fire, and one of his wings was hit. He went down, stumbling as his four massive legs took the shock, then he was up and galloping for all he was worth.
Return fire came from the ramp. To his surprise, it was Gordi’i and Kali’i, each aiming two long-barreled blasters from semi-exposed positions at the top of the ramp. All three vehicles were damaged in the space of a few heartbeats, and the police were forced to continue on foot. With a second look at the Great Cats, though, they turned back and took defensive positions behind their smoking vehicles.
Weapons appeared in the hands of the Great Cats, and they opened fire on the vehicles, forcing the guards to keep their heads down. The primary focus of the guards was the cats, but Stven was hit again just as he reached the ramp, the shot ricocheting from the scales on the top of his head to detonate against the ramp. He went down, out cold.
Moving an unconscious dragon was not an easy thing to do. Gordi’i and Kali’i each raced to his side, but they could not budge him. The cats were returning to the ship, each covering the other as they retreated, when two stingers headed their way from the terminal building. Resembling small tanks, the handheld weapons of the cats would be useless against the stingers.
The top turret on the ship opened up, fired twice, and both stingers exploded. The guns traversed to the damaged cars, and the police hiding behind them gave up the fight, running for the protection of the building. The cats joined Gordi’i and Kali’i and managed to haul Stvens’ body onto the ramp. The moment the ramp closed, the ship lifted.
M’Sada and Tarn were in the net, and they were soon joined by Krys. She took the bottom battery of two guns, while Tarn stayed with the top battery. The moment they were away from the port, M’Sada angled the ship toward space.
“Two Empire fighters just lifted from the military port,” Tarn said, almost casually.
“They’ll have a slight speed advantage,” M’Sada answered, as they left the planet behind.
The two fighters gradually closed the gap. “They’re holding position, and they’re holding fire, but they’re in range,” Tarn said. “Our aft shields are full up. Permission to fire?”
M’Sada, busy with flying the ship, thought hard. The trailing fighters were within range, but they weren’t firing. Why not? His upper hands began a rapid preening of his two long antennae as he considered. A couple of answers came to him immediately: either there were other ships ahead that would do the job, or these two wanted to get farther from the planet before firing.
A chill suddenly ran through his body, and the preening stopped. There definitely were ships ahead of him, but they were a long way out. There was only one reason he could think of that would cause the ships behind him to delay firing. They would be using a weapon they did not want the people on the planet to know about, and there was only one weapon he knew of that fit that description: the Chessori mind weapon.
“Cats to the bridge,” he ordered over the communicator. “Crew, standby to disconnect from the net.”
The moment the cats arrived, M’Sada briefed them, then handed the net over to them. Borg was captain, and Kross and Trist each manned a gun battery. The changeover wasn’t a moment too soon. One moment M’Sada was staring at the screens on the bridge, and the next he was rolling across the floor in agony. So, too, were Tarn and Krys.
Borg was cagey. He left the ship on its original trajectory, making it act as if no one was at the controls. The two fighters approached without even putting up their shields, and Kross and Trist opened fire simultaneously, destroying both ships. The mind weapon stopped, and M’Sada and Tarn slowly came to their senses. Krys did not.
M’Sada staggered back into the net, replacing the cats with himself, Kali’i, and Gordi’i. Tarn took one look at Krys and immediately went to her. She was unconscious, her breathing irregular. “She’s in trouble,” he shouted to M’Sada. “I’m off to sick bay.”
“She comes first, Tarn. We’ll mind the ship.”
Tarn picked up Krys’ slim body as if it was a feather and hurried to sick bay. He placed her in an analyzer, then pulled the cover closed. It took a while, and he didn’t understand all the details of the findings, but he understood enough to know that she had some bleeding in her brain. The readings were amber on the screen, indicating only mild concern. Chemicals were administered automatically, and there was nothing further for him to do.
Kross and Trist showed up dragging an unconscious Stven between the two of them. There was just no way they could lift him to a bed or a table. Tarn grabbed a portable analyzer and was in the process of running it over the great body of the dragon when Stven groaned. He came to swiftly and lurched to his feet.
“Ouch!” he said, glaring at everyone. “That hurt.”
“Hey, you okay, Captain?” Tarn asked, concern etched on his face.
“Yea. Just a headache. He extended a wing, careful to avoid hitting anyone, and groaned at what he saw. A wing rib had been shattered. “I won’t be doing any flying for a while. What’s going on?”
“If you’re up to it, you’d better get up to the bridge. We’re in big trouble. Krys is hurt, but I think she’ll be okay.”
The dragon peered at the readout on the analyzer, and a puff escaped from each nostril. “What happened?”
“The Chessori are what happened. Their mind weapon seems to have affected her more than the rest of us. I’ll keep an eye on her. Call me if I’m needed.”
Stven left sickbay dragging a wing. He’d fix it later, if there was a later. He entered the net, but his thoughts were still a little muddled, so he just observed. A full squadron had just come around the planet and was headed their way, but it was a long way away. Two more squadrons, both far out in the system, were headed their way, as well, but they, too, were far off. M’Sada was busy computing the best escape trajectory. Solution after solution appeared, he selected one, then set the ship on its new course.
“It’s not the solution that gives us the most time,” Stven said softly.
“I know. We’re going to have to do it again, jump early. I’ve chosen a course that’s taking us as far below the plane of the ecliptic as I can get us. Are you okay with that? And don’t go getting all puffy on me.”
“I won’t. It’s a good choice. Looks like we have four or five days before we jump.”
“Depends on the range of the Chessori mind weapon, my friend.”
“Those are Empire ships.”
“So were the two fighters that Borg and Trist took out right after we left the planet. Chessori were flying them.”
A deep silence filled the net for a time. “Does that mean what I think it means?” Stven asked.
“Hold your breath, buddy. It can only mean one thing.”
“Surely there aren’t enough Chessori to fill out a squadron.”
“There doesn’t have to be. Who’s going to fight back?”
“But what about the other crewmembers? Surely they won’t put up with the pain and suffering?”
“Would you, if it meant you lived?”